The Pink Sticky Note of Hope
by Narnian-from-Gallifrey
Summary: From a prompt on Tumblr: Someone has been leaving Martin anonymous notes. Who could it be?
1. The Pink Sticky Note of Hope

It wasn't until he was actually turning the handle of his bedroom door that Martin saw the pink sticky-note stuck to it, just at eye-level. It had been a long few days of flying and his eyes were threatening to close already.

Immediately his thoughts went to his rent. He had paid it, hadn't he? He couldn't remember. What day was it? Wednesday? No, Thursday. The fifth of the month. He was pretty sure he had paid it. At least,

Mrs. Finnigan hadn't been pounding on his door, demanding money. But he'd been away on a trip for the last…few… He hadn't paid his rent. The first was the date of that horrible flight to Texas with a bunch of rowdy cowboys. Oh no. His heart somehow managed to sink and speed up to a dangerous rate at the same time.

But he wouldn't have the money, even when Mrs. Finnigan did come knocking, as she eventually would. He had been flying so much lately that he hadn't had time to move people's things with his van. Icarus Removals had been rather dormant lately.

He leaned against the faded paper in the dimly lit hallway, rubbing his burning eyes and desperately trying not to cry. He was tempted to leave the note where it was, but he didn't want any of the college kids to see it. They'd only laugh at him. Well, more than they already did.

He pulled the note from the old wood, taking some of the peeling paint with it. As he looked closer, he saw that handwriting, though small, was very neat. It looked like a girl's, not an old cranky woman's.

It was too dim in the corridor to read, so Martin took it inside, intrigued inspite of himself. Maybe it wouldn't be Mrs. Finnigan demanding her money just yet. He flipped on the bare lightbulb that swung freely above his head, and sat down at the cheap desk in an effort to make out the tiny writing. While it might have been dimmer in the hallway, it was certainly warmer.

_Don't worry about the rent this month. You were out, so paid Mrs. F to stop banging on your door. Not helping paint situation. A friend._

Martin sat at his poorly made desk under the light of a bare bulb in disbelief. Someone had paid his rent. And noticed that he had been away. And that his door needed to be repainted. Then his heart sunk again. It was probably some stupid college prank. They would tell him his rent was paid, only to make it all the worse when Mrs. Finnigan did start pounding on his door. Probably very early in the morning.

If it hadn't been so quiet, he probably never would have heard the soft padding of socked feet coming down the hallway. He stood up in surprise, grating the feet of the chair on the old wooden floor. He heard the feet scamper away again. And then he saw how silly he was being. Why should anyone be sneaking around in the middle of the night. It was a college house - people rarely went to bed at all, let alone bothered to sneak around in the middle of the night. There was the faintest of taps on the door, as if someone had knocked just slightly harder than they had wanted to.

_Right_, Martin thought as he crossed the room, _this prank ends now._ He was tired, stressed, cold and now he was being played with. Well he wasn't in the mood for it. He yanked the door open, nearly wrenching it off its hinges. He heard a door click closed down the hall. All that was left was another pink sticky note.

_Didn't want you to think I was showing off. Just didn't want you to be worried when you realized you __hadn't paid. Sorry if you thought it was prank. Not at all. A friend. P.S Check the back of the first._

Martin felt his heart sink for the second time in as many minutes. He had mistrusted someone who had been so nice to him. He took the first note from where it had fallen from his hand onto the desk. He flipped it over.

_Also, blanket on bed. It's cold tonight._

He turned to see a large woolly blanket neatly folded on top of his thin, threadbare sheets. He smiled as tears sprang to his eyes. He climbed into bed feeling warmer that he had in a long time. Partly from the blanket, but more than that, it was knowing that maybe there was someone out there who was actually on his side.


	2. The Aeroplane

Martin opened his eyes the next morning, confused at the unusual - but not unpleasant - warmth. And then he remembered and smiled. It was strange, to him, to be smiling as he fully woke up. He couldn't remember it ever happening since he had moved into the dismal apartment. He checked his watch and saw that it was Saturday. Did he have a job today? No, he didn't think so. His smile grew a little; a day off. That hadn't happened in quite a while either. But the grin disappeared as quickly as it had come - he didn't have anything to do today. Nothing to keep away the dark thoughts, nothing to stave off the lonliness, and no money to provide any kind of short respite from his misery.

Maybe he could try communicating with the Note-Leaver. Most of the students would be home until later tonight, when they would go out partying. He found a scrap of paper, a pen and some tape. What should he say? What words could he possibly find to convey how touched he was that someone would actually go to such trouble on his behalf, and how grateful he was that they had done so? He decided that a thank you, even such a humble one as his tired brain could provide, would make a good start.

_Thank you for the everything. It was unbelievably kind of you. I would prefer to thank you in person, though. I've a day off today, and no plans. Could we meet?_ Since he didn't know who had been leaving the notes, he just stuck the white piece of paper to his own door, hoping that the Note-Leaver might happen to see it.

It was cold in the attic, and Martin could see the rain pounding on the single window. He climbed back into bed, savouring the warmth that flooded back into him.

He didn't realize he had fallen back asleep until he heard the gentle knocking on his door. He hurried to answer it, hoping it would be the mysterious Note-Leaver. Instead, he opened the door to find a box by his feet with a pink sticky-note on top. He was disappointed that the person hadn't wanted to meet him, but he took the box inside his room; he thought he could spy some kind of aeroplane on the front. As he was looking at the box, he missed the girl's head poking out from a room down the hall. She had kind brown eyes that watched as Martin took the box into his room. She grinned and shut her door as softly as she could.

Martin, putting the box on his desk, saw that it contained a model Sopwith Camel aeroplane which could be built and then painted. The note on the top read:

_Sorry, can't - studying for finals. Perhaps after exams? Realize it's for kids - thought it might help w/ the boredom. Not sure what kind you prefer, but this looked cool. Hope it's OK. Gave me good reason to take a break from studying._

He tucked the note into the desk drawer, where he had carefully stowed the others. Then he slowly opened the box, smelling the wooden pieces and the glue and paint, reveling in the memories it brought back. He had used to buy aeroplane kits like this - his childhood bedroom had been full of them; hand-built and brightly painted, some painstakingly put together and some messily done before he had acquired the dexterity to build them properly. He hadn't been able to afford kits like this for years.

It was still chilly so he grabbed the woolly blanket from the bed, wrapped up in it, and set to work.


	3. The Phone Call

The notes stopped coming for a while, not that it really surprised Martin. He was used to people forgetting about him. During the few times he had been home, he opened the drawer where eah note have been carefully placed. As he had read them again, he had been struck anew by the thoughtfulness of the author.

This particular morning, Martin was lugging his stuff up the stairs to his dismal attic. The house seemed unusually...still. It wasn't just the quiet of the students being at school - there were always a few skipping out on class to catch up on sleep or video games. This went deeper. This was the silence of an empty house. Ah. So it was the end of the semester again and the student had all moved out for the summer. Martin generally hated this time of the year because, while it wasn't exactly fun to come home to a house full of people who tended to mock him, it let him know that he wasn't alone. With everyone gone, the house became even more lonely. However, this morning Martin was too exhausted to care.

He reached his faded door - his mysterious note-leaver was gone for the summer, maybe they had graduated and wouldn't be back at all. That made him sad but he was used to such disappointments by this point in his life. He entered his attic, and in light his thoughts the room felt a little less welcoming that usual. His eyes flew to the Sopwith Camel that hung in front of his window and above his desk. Martin smiled at the memory of that happy day spent at his desk painting the plane, carefully and precisely. It had gotten his head out of the lonely attic for a while. He shook his head and was brought back to the present by the recognition of two pink sticky-notes hanging from the body of the plane. After expecting to never hear from the mysterious person who had made his life just a little but brighter, Martin was struck by a deep happiness that he was sure he hadn't experienced since moving into this place nearly ten years ago. The notes read:

_I guess you're away. Too bad. I had hope to meet before the end of the year. BUT, here's my number. I don't live too far away. Call me and we'll get together :) Or don't. Either way. Best wishes, Amelia Mary Kinner._

Martin couldn't believe it. This Amelia had actually bothered to let him know where he could reach her. And, whether she knew it or not, she appeared to be named after the first woman to fly across the Atlantic Ocean. He dug around in his pockets for some change - which he happened to find - and hurried out of the house to a nearby payphone to make the call.

His hands shook as he slotted the coins into the machine and then carefully dialed the number. W_hat was he going to say? Would she even answer?_

"Hello?" A female voice came through the old phone. It sounded pleasant and Martin took that as a good sign.

"Yes, umm...hi. My name is Martin Crieff and I'm calling for..."

"Martin!" The voice was happy. Strange, but good. "I was hoping you'd call! I'm Amelia... I presume you were calling for me?" Even through the tinny phone, Martin could hear the shake and the rising inflection at the end. So she wasn't sure that he was even calling for her.

"Yes, yes I am." He wanted to calm her as much as he wanted to calm himself. "I found your notes...obviously. Sorry, I'm kind of nervous."

"Oh good. I hope you didn't think it was creepy, me putting on the plane. It looked lovely, by the way."

"Well...thank you." And then Martin could hold back no longer. "I don't think you know how much your notes meant to me. Mean. Seriously, they were pretty much the only thing that made it bearable to come home most of the time."

There was silence. _I've scared her off. Well, there's another one gone._ And then he heard a strange sound, like a hiccup.

"Are you alright? Amelia? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said so much.."

"I'm fine, it's just...Thinking about how dismal that attic is, I would hate living there and you seem like such a nice, sweet guy...and I know the guys make fun of you a lot and..."

Martin was shocked to realize that she was crying. Over him. A girl crying because he lived in an attic.

"Well, don't cry. Please. It's not really that bad." It was strange to be comforting someone for a change. Usually it was others comforting him. Or no one.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He heard her take a shaky breath. "Listen, can we meet up somewhere. It would be so nice to actually talk to you." Amelia's voice sounded more confident now.

"Um...yeah. I actually have a day off tomorrow, if that would work? I know it's awfully short notice..."

"That's perfect. How about tomorrow, round 4-ish. There's a nice little coffee shop not too far from your place." She gave him the name of a cafe a few blocks away.

"Okay." Martin knew he should say something else, but he wasn't quite sure what that would be.

"Okay."

"Well...bye then."

"See you tomorrow."

Martin hung up the phone. Had he just been asked out? By someone who seemed to actually care about him? He walked back up to his room. Even as tired as he was, there was a smile on his face and a spring in his step.


End file.
